The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future

by Mike Resnick

  "I need something or someone that can entice the Tweedles a few hundred miles from their fortress," replied Dante. He grimaced. "That's going under the assumption that they can't teleport. If they can change locations instantaneously, then I can't save her."

  "Or kill them."

  Dante looked annoyed. "Killing them is the easy part."

  "There are a couple of million corpses strewn around the Frontier that would disagree about killing them being the easy part," said Moby Dick.

  "They went about it wrong," said Dante. "If I can get them 300 miles away, maybe they won't see me land. Even if they can teleport, they have to have a reason to do so. If they're far enough away, they won't have one."

  "We can fly low and drop some explosives 300 miles away," said the albino. "Or 500, or 800, if that's what you want."

  Dante shook his head. "Then they'll come after the ship. I have to get them to leave the fortress and give me time to get September Morn out."

  Suddenly Moby Dick smiled. "I think I've got the solution to your problems."

  Dante looked at him expectantly.

  "Did you ever hear of Deuteronomy Priest?" continued the huge man.

  "No."

  "He preaches all over the Inner Frontier. Last I heard, maybe three weeks ago, he wasn't too far from here. I think I can have him on Hadrian in two Standard days, maybe less if his preaching has taken him in this direction."

  "Then what?"

  The albino grinned. "Then we turn him loose on Kabal III."

  "There's got to be more to it than that," said Dante. "Tell me about this Deuteronomy Priest."

  "He's a hellfire-and-damnation preacher the likes of which I'll wager you've never seen. Used to be a male prostitute, of all things. Then he got the call, and now no sinner is safe from his ministrations, which mostly take the form of rather unpleasant predictions about the particularly nasty afterlife awaiting you if you don't repent." Moby Dick paused. "And since almost no alien has ever been baptized, they've become his special project."

  "Let me get this straight," said Dante. "He's a preacher. He's not a bounty hunter, like legend says Father William was. He doesn't carry weapons, just invectives?"

  "You got it," said Moby Dick. "if we land him next to the fortress, they'll probably kill him before his ship touches down. At any rate, you won't be able to sneak in." Suddenly he grinned again. "But what if we program his ship to land a thousand miles away, give it a state of the art communication system, something that'll carry his voice a hundred miles or more, and tell him to start preaching?"

  "The Tweedle would want to see what the hell's going on," continued Dante excitedly. "And once he got there, he'd probably be more curious than deadly. He'd want to know what this guy is carrying on about before he kills him." He closed his eyes, did some quick calculations, then looked at the albino. "Even if the Tweedles can get there in five minutes, if Priest can keep them amused or interested or even just curious for another five minutes before they kill him or leave him alone, that's bought me a quarter of an hour. If we monitor them, I can land when they're halfway to Priest. The fortress isn't that big. I'll bring sensors, she can yell, one way or another I can find her in a couple of minutes, and I can blast her out of any cell she's in." Suddenly he frowned. "Only one problem. Will the Tweedle show up on our ship's sensors? Is he so alien that it won't be able to read where he's at? After all, Silvermane's ship didn't find any sign of life when we landed."

  "I didn't think of that," admitted Moby Dick.

  "It's not your job to," said Dante. "All right, we'll just have to assume the Tweedles become aware of him almost as soon as he lands. Now, will they go there immediately, or will they stay put and see if he's waiting for allies?"

  "They don't worry about losing battles," said Moby Dick. "I think they'll go right away."

  "I agree," said Dante. "If they can't teleport, how soon can they get there?"

  "The planet's got a heavy atmosphere. Whatever kind of vehicle they're using, if they go too fast they'll burn up. Let's land him a thousand miles away and give them six minutes to get there. Maybe it'll take them an hour, but I sure as hell doubt it."

  "Okay, I'll just have to assume they act like rational beings and show a little curiosity."

  "And if they don't?"

  "Then I'll have to do some mighty fast talking when they ask me what I'm doing there," said Dante.

  "Is there anything else?"

  "Lots," replied the poet. "But let's see if your preacher's available first."

  "Let me get to the radio and I'll contact him," said Moby Dick, relaxing as his chair gently changed shapes and helped lift his huge bulk onto his feet.

  Dante suddenly realized that he hadn't slept the night before, that he'd been sitting here at the table for almost 20 hours working out all the ramifications of his plan. Suddenly he could barely keep his eyes open, and he went back his room at the Windsor Arms. He didn't even bother taking his clothes off or climbing under the covers. He just collapsed on the bed, and was asleep ten seconds later.

  When he awoke, he felt like he'd just come out of the Deepsleep pod. All his muscles ached, and he was starving. He looked at the timepiece on his nightstand: he'd been asleep for 22 hours.

  His mouth felt dry and sour, and he wandered into the bathroom, drank a glass of cold water, threw some more on his face, took a quick shower, rubbed a handful of depilatory cream on his face, climbed into the robe the hotel had supplied, and went back to the bedroom. He put on fresh clothes, and was considering having breakfast delivered to his room when the security system told him he had visitors. The moment he saw that one of them weighed in excess of 500 pounds, he commanded the door to dilate.

  "I trust you slept as well as you slept long," said an amused Moby Dick, stepping into the room.

  Accompanying him was a pale, thin, almost emaciated man with piercing blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin lips above a pointed chin. He was dressed all in black, except for a glowing, diamond-studded silver cross that hung around his neck.

  "Dante Alighieri, allow me to introduce you to Deuteronomy Priest," continued the albino.

  "Pleased to meet you," said Dante, staring at the strange- looking man.

  "More pleased than this fucking alien will be, I can promise you that," said Deuteronomy Priest in a vigorous voice that seemed much too powerful for his body. "The blue bastard will never be the same. Once I convert the fuckers, they stay converted!"

  Dante looked at Moby Dick with an expression that seemed to say: Is this a joke?

  Moby Dick grinned back so happily that Dante knew it wasn't a joke at all, that this was the person September Morn's—and his own—life depended on.

  "You got anything to drink?" asked the preacher, looking around the room.

  "Sorry," said Dante.

  "What the hell kind of hotel doesn't supply booze for its guests?" groused Deuteronomy Priest. He looked up. "How about drugs?"

  "I don't have any."

  "What the hell are you good for?" muttered the preacher. He walked to the door. "I'll be back in the casino. Let me know when we're ready to read the riot act to this alien bastard."

  And with that, he was gone.

  "I wish you could see your face right now!" chuckled Moby Dick.

  "Is this guy for real?" said Dante.

  "He's perfect for the job," answered the albino. "Nothing in the world can shut him up or scare him. Once he touches down, he's the one person you can be sure won't be tempted to cut and run when the Tweedles confront him. Hell, he might actually convert them!"

  "Just keep him sober enough to stand up and talk once he gets there."

  "When are we leaving?"

  "Not for a week, maybe even a bit longer."

  "That long?"

  "We've got a lot of work to do first."

  "We do?"

  "Matilda and I have built a formidable organization. In Santiago's absence, I'm going to put it to work—and you're going to help."

 
; "Just who are you going to war with, besides the Tweedle?" asked Moby Dick.

  "No one. The key to survival is avoiding wars, not fighting them."

  "Then what are you going to do?"

  "Arrange a war between two other parties," answered Dante.

  41.

  He killed a man by accident, then two, then six, then ten.

  He's got to where he likes it, and longs to kill again.

  His name is Accidental Barnes, he cannot lose that yen—

  His weapon is the crossbow, his game is killing men.

  Dante arranged for the hotel to give Deuteronomy Priest the Presidential Suite, and put Moby Dick in charge of him. Then he went back to his own room and raised the Grand Finale on the subspace radio.

  "Well, hello, Rhymer," said Wilbur Connaught's image as it flickered into existence. "I haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, thanks," replied Dante.

  "What's all this I hear about someone called Silvermane taking over?"

  "Forget it. He's dead."

  "Then I still report to the bandit?"

  "He's dead, too."

  Wilbur frowned. "Who's left?"

  "Until we find another Santiago, you'll report to me," said Dante. "But that's not what I'm contacting you about. You've been operating inside the Democracy for a few months now. Have you got three or four men or women, also within the Democracy, that you can trust?"

  "Four for sure. Maybe five."

  "Stick to the sure ones."

  "Okay," said Wilbur, lighting a smokeless cigar. "What do you want them to do?"

  "I want them to spread out, thousands of parsecs from each other. And I want each of them, independently, to report to the Navy that an alien entity that calls itself the Tweedle was responsible for slaughtering all those children in the Madras system, that it's been bragging about it all across the Inner Frontier."

  "Didn't the Bandit do that?"

  "That's one crime Santiago doesn't need the credit for," answered Dante. "Once the Democracy has someone to blame, they'll be out in force."

  "Okay, so we'll lay the blame on this alien. I assume you have a reason?"

  "I do. Now listen to me, and capture and save this conversation, because if you mess up the details you've killed me." Dante paused. "Are you ready?"

  "Shoot."

  "I want you and each of your people to inform the Navy, all independently of each other, that no one knows where the Tweedle lives, but they know it will be on Kabal III, on the Inner Frontier, six days from now, for a payoff. It's a very cautious creature, and it travels with its own army. It will arrive at a fortress that's at latitude 32 degrees, 17 minutes, and 32 seconds north, and longitude 8 degrees, 4 minutes, and 11 seconds east. It will show up exactly two hours after sunrise at the fortress—my computer tells me that's 1426 Galactic Standard time, keyed to Deluros VII; make sure you tell them that—and it'll be gone ten minutes later. The planet is uninhabited. The only way to defeat the Tweedle is to pound the whole fucking planet until there's nothing left of it."

  "You're giving yourself an awfully small window, Rhymer," noted Wilbur.

  "Any earlier and they'll kill me and someone who's working with me. Any later and the Tweedle almost certainly will be gone, and I hate to think of what it'll do to Hadrian if it gets away from Kabal."

  "I'll take your word for it."

  "Can you convince the Navy to do it?" asked Dante. "Everything depends on that."

  "Probably. I'm not without my connections—and you haven't been back here since Madras. It's still in the news every day. They've been looking for the culprit ever since it happened. Our pal the Bandit didn't leave any clues."

  "I'll be in touch with you in five and a half days. I can still call it off then, if you don't think the Navy's bought your story."

  Dante broke the connection, then left the room, took the airlift down to the main floor, and took a slidewalk over to the Fat Chance. Moby Dick sat sitting at his usual table, and Dante quickly joined him.

  "Is your preacher going to hold up for six days?" he asked by way of greeting.

  "He's been abusing his body with bad booze and worse drugs for the better part of thirty years now," answered the huge albino. "I don't imagine another few days will make much difference."

  "I hope you're right," said Dante. "I've got another job for you."

  "What is it?"

  "Find me an engineer. I want to be able to operate Priest's ship from a thousand miles away."

  "What's the matter with auto-pilot?"

  "Nothing, once he's taken off. In fact, I want it programmed to take him to some uninhabited world—but I have to be able to make it take off when I want it to."

  The albino frowned. "Why an uninhabited world?"

  "If my plan goes wrong, the Tweedle is going to be chasing one or the other of us, and I don't intend for either of us to lead them to Hadrian or any other populated world."

  Moby Dick grinned. "He's gonna be that pissed, is he?"

  "That's a pretty fair assessment," agreed Dante.

  "I take it you're really going to go back for September Morn?"

  "That's right."

  "How much time do you think you'll have before the Tweedle knows you're there and tries to stop you?"

  "I don't know. Five minutes. Ten at the outside."

  "Then I want you to take a friend of mine along."

  Dante looked sharply at him. "Oh?"

  "He's as brave as they come, he can help you look for her, and if it gets rough, he'll be another distraction. It might just buy you the extra few seconds you need."

  "I'll be taking Virgil."

  "Take my friend, too," urged the huge man. "You're telling me you've only got five minutes. The more people you have trying to find where he's stashed her, the better."

  "I hope you're not going to volunteer, too," said Dante with a smile. "It'd take you ten minutes just to get from the ship to the fortress, even if I land right next to it."

  "I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses," said Moby Dick. "I'm staying right here."

  "All right. Who's your friend?"

  "Did you ever hear of Accidental Barnes?"

  "It sounds like a joke."

  "There's nothing funny about him."

  "It's the name that's amusing."

  "He killed his first man by accident," said Moby Dick. "He killed his next 30 on purpose. If things get nasty, you'll be glad you've got him with you. He's certainly more use than that goddamned Indian." He grimaced. "You know, none of my servo-mechs have worked since yesterday."

  Dante chuckled. "I seem to remember you suggesting that he pay them a visit."

  "Only because I never thought he'd do it!" snapped Moby Dick. Suddenly all the alien gamblers stopped what they were doing and stared at him. "Go back to your games," he said in a more reasonable tone of voice. "Nothing's wrong." He turned back to Dante. "I don't know why you let him hang around. He's useless."

  "That useless man may possess some tastes that you and I disagree with," answered Dante, "but he's as deadly a killer as Dimitrios was. And he's totally loyal to me. If there's a better reason to let him hang around, I can't think of it."

  "Point taken," acknowledged Moby Dick.

  "Now, where is this Accidental Barnes?"

  "He's staying at your hotel. He arrived while we were off visiting the Tweedle."

  "What's he doing here?"

  "Gambling," said the albino. "He doesn't need the money, but he enjoys the challenge."

  Dante looked around. "So why isn't he here?"

  "This casino is for aliens."

  "Nobody's ever stopped me from entering."

  "He can enter it any time he wants, but we don't have any human games, and he prefers them." Moby Dick signaled to a Mollutei, which ambulated over and stood in front of him. The albino spoke in an alien tongue for a moment, and then the alien left the casino. "I've just sent for him. He should be here in a few minutes."

&n
bsp; They waited in silence, and five minutes later a short, stocky man with spiky blond hair and a bushy beard, blond but streaked with white, entered the casino. He looked around, spotted Moby Dick, and walked over.

  "Dante, this is Accidental Barnes, the man I was telling you about."

  Dante extended a hand, which Barnes accepted.

  "Got a job for you," continued Moby Dick. "How would you like to ride shotgun on a rescue mission against Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

  "Tweedledee and Tweedledum?" repeated Barnes. "Nice to know you're not thinking small. What's it pay?"

  "Nothing if we fail, bragging rights if we win," said Dante.

  "You're asking me to go up against the most dangerous pair of aliens on the Frontier," said Barnes. "And I didn't hear any mention of money."

  "You're not going to. They've kidnapped a woman. I plan to rescue her. We'll be in and out in five minutes, or we're dead. Moby Dick volunteered you. I don't need your help, but I'd like it."

  "And you're not paying anything at all?" said Barnes.

  "The woman is September Morn," said Moby Dick.

  Barnes's entire demeanor changed. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? I'm in."

  "You know her?"

  "She's as close to royalty as this sector has produced," answered Barnes. "If the Inner Frontier ever gets civilized, it's going to be because of people like her, not you and me."

  "The question is whether we want it to be civilized," interjected Moby Dick. "Most of us came out here to get away from civilization."

  "We came here to get away from the Democracy, which isn't the same thing," replied Dante.

  "I agree," said Barnes. "And whether the whale here likes it or not, sooner or later we are going to get civilized." He turned to Dante. "Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledum keeping here, and when do we strike?"

  "I'll tell you the planet as soon as I know where it is," said Dante. "We'll leave in four or five days."

  "Count me in." Barnes got to his feet. "Nice meeting you. You can find me at the Windsor Arms."

  Barnes left the casino.

  "Why didn't you tell him she's on Kabal III?" asked Moby Dick.

  "You heard him. He thinks she's royalty. He wanted money until he found out we're after September Morn, and now he's willing to risk his life for free. If I tell him where she was, I don't think he'll wait until I'm ready."